


Baby, Come Home

by FarFromHeroic



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22690597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FarFromHeroic/pseuds/FarFromHeroic
Summary: Captain Jackson Lloyd learns to adjust to civilian life with his loving wife, Jean. Between the machine floating about his house, his wife facing threats during a high-profile case, and learning how to be a father, Captain Jackson Lloyd learns how to be Jack the Mechanic.Until the bombs fall, and Jack the Mechanic dies in a wash of radioactive fire, eyes stinging and arms burning, and Captain Lloyd freezes to death in a steel tomb, voice raw and knuckles bloody. He returns to consciousness, but no longer feels alive. His wife could be sleeping, if not for the dark red hole frosted over on her forehead. His child is frozen next to her, face left in a permanent cry.Amidst grief, desperation, and fury, one man will avenge his family.Then, that man will rest.
Relationships: Female Sole Survivor/Male Sole Survivor (Past)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Baby, Come Home

When he comes home from the war, he tries to leave the army behind.

To fill his early mornings, he runs. He keeps in shape because he knows his wife likes the way he looks. He likes when she is happy. He showers every morning after his run, and dresses in their room, avoiding the drawer where his dress blues have lain since his discharge.

He wakes his wife with a kiss every morning. He makes her breakfast while she is in the shower, French toast and bacon for special occasions. She takes the car for the commute into the city, and he walks to work, all the while doing his best to ignore the dusting of snow and cold wind that tries to invade his mind and drag him back. He must remind himself where he is, but he thinks it’s a good practice. He learns to cope.

He spends his days in the auto mechanic shop down the road. The Red Rocket station is calming. He has a job, and he knows how to do it. The radio blares from across the shop, the bouncing beats of the music a stark difference from the sharp staccato that echoes in his head. He focuses on the song between jobs — something about a rocket, ironically enough — and finds himself humming the tune before too long.

He comes home from his eight to five job to his wife, two months pregnant and still wiping the courtroom floor left and right. They sit in the den after dinner, snuggled into the couch cushions. She throws popcorn at the crime show that’s on, mumbling about inconsistencies. He is more interested in the way her brow furrows in frustration and the petulant growl in her voice. She catches him staring at her and smiles. His heart nearly stops every time, but he can’t help but smile back at her.

He has effectively left the war behind him, save for the distant reminders from the news reporting on the war efforts.

.  
x  
.

Six months later, the routine changes.

His wife has a hard time moving around now. Forced into early maternity leave, she grows restless without her work, but suffers from the lack of movement. She spends hours watching daytime television and napping until he comes home. She sits and watches with guilt written across her face as he tidies the house and cooks dinner on his own. She can no longer help him.

Jean, his sweet, innocent Jean, convinces him to buy a Mr. Gutsy. A domestic one. They call them Mr. Handy models, but he knows better. Different paint and additional programming, but the Gutsy is still there. But Jean looks at him with those eyes, and he indulges her naivete, soothes her guilt.

He watches though, waiting for the programming to glitch, for the machine to go berserk. He’d seen it before. During the war, no one batted an eye at a malfunctioning Gutsy. They just took away the bodies, fixed the machine, and forgot the rest. Hers was not a body he could bury and forget.

The machine whirs on, though. Making coffee, cooking meals, cleaning the house. They fall into a new routine. He sleeps lightly. When the machine – Codsworth, it insists – attempts to wake them, it only wakes Jean, its thrusters having woken him an hour earlier. Once the way to the bathroom is clear of the machine, he showers. He dodges its metal arms when he grabs his coffee, sitting next to his wife, listening to her chatter. He indulges himself in the conversation, only keeping half an eye on the machine. He runs less, preferring to leave her alone with the machine as little as possible. He runs to work, the car staying parked next to the house, so the machine will leave the house to polish it.

At the Red Rocket, he worries while he works. His worries make him faster. His bosses are impressed enough to give him a raise. He barely notices when said bosses receive an award for waste reduction.

By the time he returns, he is sprinting home. He tells himself it is meant to make up for his shorter runs in the morning. But he cannot deny the relief he feels everyday when he walks through the door to see his beautiful, innocent wife yelling at the people on the television.

He tells himself he is being stupid.

He cannot avoid stray thoughts that wonder if today will be the day. The day the machine breaks and he becomes a widower. Alone. Again.

.

x

.

His wife goes into labor a month after they get Codsworth.

The neighbor, Mrs. Rosa, calls him while she drives Jean to the hospital. She is patient as he slips up. He questions her as if he were still Captain Jackson Lloyd, not Jack the Mechanic. She answers quickly, easing his worries with little fanfare.

When he hesitates before hanging up, she understands before he can say a word. “It’s fine, Jack. My father was the same way after he came home. We’ll see you soon.”

She hangs up at that while he stands staring at the shop wall, mind racing. Who knew a lifelong housewife would understand military habits?

He doesn’t waste another second. With a shout towards the office about a family emergency, he runs out of the shop at a dead sprint. He covers the mile distance in under six minutes. A new record. In under an hour, he finds his way to Medford Memorial, cursing the traffic under his breath. He relieves Mrs. Rosa and waits through the labor, comforting his Jean as much as he is able, awaiting their child’s birth. His hand is nearly broken, but he has never felt more whole.

Then, his life changes once again, and his priorities adjust.

He has a little one to take care of after all.

.

x

.

His worries only compound with the little one around. He takes a few days to help his Jean adjust, but those few days end quickly. His bosses need him to come into work today. He needs to catch up on the work that has piled up so far, before customers start complaining.

This means Jean will be on her own. With the little one. And the Gutsy look-alike. He tries to pretend he is not anxious. His Jean knows him too well.

“Jack, we’ll be fine, baby. We’ll be here when you come home,” she promises. Their child blinks at him, before smiling, as if in agreement. He can think of no excuse to stay home, and so he returns to work.

He still skips his early morning runs, because his family is home with the machine. He still works a fast as possible, because the sooner he finishes his workload, the sooner he can watch the machine for glitches. He still sprints home; his new record becomes his new norm.

Mrs. Rosa stops him before he takes off one morning. “She’s worried about you, Jack.”

He stares at her, his response stuck in his chest.

“You can’t stay bottled up like this. You’ll worry yourself to death, like my father did.”

He is silent a moment longer. Then, “I…” he pauses again. “I don’t like leaving Jean and little Shaun alone.” He stares off at the Mr. Handy – _not a Handy; once a Gutsy, always a Gutsy –_ a furrow marring his brow. She makes a soft, understanding sound, not unlike a sigh.

“The robot still concerns you.”

He jerks his head to her, his focus on her once more. Slowly, he nods. “Yes, ma’am,” comes the response. He knows he should be accustomed to the machine. He knows that the machine has done nothing suspect. Yet, he cannot bring himself to dismiss his fears, even nearly four months later. “General Atomics is not well regarded when it comes to programming.”

She hums at him, a long, low note coming from her throat. Now it is her brow that furrows in thought. “Have you spoken to the machine since buying it?” she asks.

His face morphs to a look of panic. He shuffles his feet almost unconsciously. His hands begin to tremble. “No, ma’am,” he stutters out, “Gutsy models don’t make conversation.”

“You purchased a Mr. Handy model, did you not?”

He hesitates again. He regrets not ignoring her call. He does not want to explain his concerns. “Handy, Gutsy, it’s all the same, ma’am.” He says this with certainty. He checks his watch, watches seconds tick by. “I should be going, or I’ll be late.”

“Of course, Jack. But let it be known, sometimes, even General Atomics can get it right.” With that she turns back to her home, intending to start her own morning routine. Jack stares after her, rolling her words around in his head.

He continues his jog to work and arrives seven minutes early.


End file.
